Sanguinem et Daemonia
by BlackRosePoetry
Summary: "And maybe when he's skinny enough the ghost powers that started this whole mess will burn away and he'll be absolved finally be human be invisible." Danny-centric eating-disorder fic. Trigger warning for self-harm, depression, suicidal thoughts, abuse, and of course anorexia. Rated for all this and language. Crazy Vlad should also be his own warning.
1. Obumbrata Somnia

**Sanguinem et Daemonia**

 **(Blood and Demons)**

It started on August 24, 2007 at five-twenty-eight in the evening. That day was a Friday, the day all teenagers look forward to, the day he adored with a passion because it meant _freedom_ for a weekend, two days of nothing but ghost powers and friendship and family. Perfection.

The day is ingrained in his corneas, carved with a razor blade on his hippocampus and the too-pale flesh of his stomach. He remembers every minute detail with an almost terrifying precision. One with demons in their head always hears the screaming long after the echoes have been silenced.

But the subsequent days and weeks and months and years afterward blur together 'til he can't tell fiction from nonfiction, reality from dream. 'Til he can't tell living with Mom ( _MaddieMaddieprettymommy_ ) and Dad ( _JackJackstupidstupid_ _ **fuck**_ ) from living with _Mom_ and _Dad_. 'Til Mom and Dad, Sam and Tucker and Jazz and the A-listers all blur together in a water-color conglomeration with one face and many voices and in his head there's a hissing like snakes that says

 _You_

 _Were_

 _Never_

 _Enough_

He wishes it would stop. Because he can't sleep, not that he ever slept much before anyways. And though he doesn't want to, he knows he has to. There's something important he has to do, something _very_ important and in his head there's somebody screaming and blood drip drip dripping and a baritone laugh that's so very cruel so very familiar –

And suddenly he's back _there_ , back to August 24,2007 and he's watching Vlad kill-kill-kill his Dad, obliterate his sister and there was nothing but bloodlust and incandescent fury in hellfire red eyes.

It worries him that that horrible cruel laugh has become the lullaby that sends him to sleep.

And then suddenly he's living with _Mom_ and _Dad_ because the courts have deemed Madeline Fenton unfit to be his legal guardian – she's crazy crazy crazy since Jack's heart got torn from his ribcage – because there's so many fucking things wrong with this. But he doesn't say a word through this all.

The words want to come out want to pour from his mouth like blood from an artery but, really, what's the point in arguing against Vlad _motherfucking_ Masters?

He's the worst sort of

 _Coward_.

And there are so many apologies circling in so many people crushing him with their arms tasting his misery just like _Mom_ and trying to get in close to this teenager this child that survived a tragedy that took so much. And he knows he's skinny, tiny because of his ghost-powers fighting sleep deprivation, but he wishes he was skinnier so he could slip through the crowds like the wind like smoke like a dream like a _secret_ – and then he remembers he knows how to be invisible and he flees.

He sees Valerie the night before _Dad_ removes him from his home his life and he for a fleeting moment he considers going to her, allowing her to put her ecto-blaster right over his core and

Pull

The

Trigger

But he doesn't. Because he's fucking weak and a coward and he couldn't even _see_ this coming. How could he not see the demons in fruitloop's twisted little brain? Not see that Spectra was working her way in whispering sugar sweet decaying lies into his ear?

There's a spark missing from _Dad_ 's eyes now a passion now

Dead.

He looks demented. Shattered pieces glued back together by a child's hands. Like he's been –

And then he gets it. He finally fucking _gets_ it.

Penelope Spectra is a witch and a whore and _Mom_ but she understands Vlad Masters on a level no one else ever could dream of. She tastes his misery and savors the flavor tears him down to his broken knees, croons murderous demonic things in his ear while the world crumbles around them. And then she'll do things like make his favorite tea ( _Lady Gray with just a hint of honey_ ) and curl up with him on the couch and curl under his chin like a content cat, fingers brushing over steelcord muscles while quiet murmurs of assurance leave her lips.

They are not healthy they are co-dependent and venomous and abusive and so tragic. So _fucking_ tragic.

The story books got it wrong, Danny thinks. There are no happy endings, no heroes in a world full of sex drugs suffering and shit. Even the Wicked Witch had loved and was loved by _somebody_ and how can there be happy endings when Sam was buried with only half a head? How can there be sunshine when Tucker is dead and cold and in the ground?

There is no hope.

No light. Nothing but frozen wastelands and whispering bones and snakes hissing in his ears.

They're

All

Dead.

And it's all his fault.

Stupid fucking weak little hero with your ghost powers and your stupid moniker why couldn't you get it right and just save your goddamn father? The snake is hissing but it's singing a different tune now –

 _Murderer_

 _Murderer_

 _Murderer_

 _Waste_

He comes to a castle that screams opulence with its black silk sheets and Green Bay Packers décor splattering the walls like emerald entrails and all Danny wants to do is fucking scream. He wants to break everything in this godforsaken place, crush the bricks blunt the knives burn the beams overhead and scorch the entire fucking planet until there's nothing left but ashes and the taste of charred meat on his tongue.

That first night as _Mom_ and _Dad_ retreat into their expansive bedroom and scream and fuck until the Sun comes up he retreats into the bathroom. Nothing but whispers and demons for company. And suddenly he forgets how to breathe. He pants clawing at his head and leaving big bleeding gashes in too-pale flesh and begging whoever would listen for the demons to just go. AWAY!

That's where they find him hours later curled on cold tile bleeding and whimpering like a broken little bitch.

Vlad _Dad_ looks like he doesn't know what to think like you're a contradiction within his shattered mind even though there's crimson staining his stupid expensive marble flooring.

And Penny _Mom_ has an odd look in her eyes like she wants to cry and wants to scream but she is a vampire therefore biology and art dictates she must feed upon your misery break your bones.

It doesn't matter, not really, not anymore.

Not to anyone and not to Vlad _Dad_ and certainly not to one former hero turned fuckup named Danny Fenton.

The days pass in an amalgamation and he's not retaining anything because the universe has become a toddler's watercolor painting with him as the star. He doesn't remember making a conscious decision not to eat. But he knows he's always been careful about what he eats.

Always fearful of eating too much despite his flippant attitude.

Taking what he doesn't deserve.

And he knows enough now because _Mom_ is always spouting her psychobabble and trying to "fix him" that it probably stems from the a-c-c-i-d-e-n-t. Probably stems from being a v-i-c-t-i-m. And he hates that word those six letters coming together to condemn him. Because he is a Hero and in the story books the Hero is never a v-i-c-t-i-m. He _hates_ that word

V

I

C

T

I

M

It sounds pitiable and pathetic.

Makes him sound like he's some tiny broken puppy shoved into a pound begging "take me home, take me home" a big boisterous puppy with black and white fur –

And here he has to stop. Because he's missing Dad again and that's not allowed, not in the Masters household no matter what _Mom_ told him when he moved in, whispered under her breath with haunted green eyes and bruises on her arms. How dare he miss the man that ruined _Dad_? How dare he steep in his own misery when the Mansons and the Foleys have lost their precious children lost their future and the only thing that mattered? He's lost everything.

But unlike them he had no right to possess anything at all.

There's a pressure an ache that's bubbling underneath his skin and he hasn't slept in a week despite Vlad shooting him almost-human glances and Penelope looking ever-younger ever-worried by the day.

And there's something missing in his head and when he closes his eyes there's no comforting familiar bloodredred the same color as his mom's goggles and no demented lullaby laughter.

Instead he sees bare pale high school hallways and the questioning stare of Jazz, the picture of Tucker still laughing or it's Sam's terrified face he sees or his dad's bleeding corpse on the floor with Vlad standing over it heart in a clawed palm and oh God he just wants to sleep why can't they leave him alone?

And that's a selfish thought because he's a

 _Murderer_

 _Murderer_

 _Murderer_

He doesn't deserve to forget or to eat or to sleep.

Danny Fenton

Danny _Phantom_

Hero

The Ghost Boy

He thought there would be some relief some sort of closure after a while after healing. But there's no healing only festering pus-filled wounds that crack open and bleed and whispers in his head crooning terrible things.

He doesn't deserve _anything_.

And though he's in constant company with _Dad_ Vlad and his demons and Penelope with her witchcraft her bruises and the ghosts and humans –

At night he's all alone in the cold cold moonlight on the floor in the bathroom.

And that's when his demons his snakes come out of his head to play and even though he _knows_ they're not real

Sometimes he forgets.

So he doesn't eat doesn't want to eat and he really doesn't know why because this has NEVER happened before but he is skinnier than he's ever been before. And this is something he can _control_. This is something that _Dad_ cannot forbid and _Mom_ cannot see because she's too busy watching dear darling fucked-up little Vlad. Not eating is easy. Far far easier than

 _Living_.

And maybe when he's skinny enough the ghost powers that started this whole fucking mess will burn away and he'll be absolved finally be human be invisible.

And maybe without all those eyes ghost eyes human eyes staring and condemning

He'll finally be free.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello once again my lovelies! My name is BlackRosePoetry and welcome back to the clusterfuck that is my mind. Now, this particular fic is in the same universe as "Serpentis", meaning that you might want to read that in conjunction with this. Now, I will warn you guys, this fic is dark and deals with a lot of delicate topics that may be triggering to some, as was stated by the warning in the summary. Danny, as you probably already noticed, is the main focus of this piece, and in this I'll be going through his metamorphosis in the aftermath of Vlad's psychotic break.**

 **My beloved Vleb and his lovely Penny will be main characters in this as well. Never fear! I am absolute trash for fucking Misery Motivated, so there will indeed be chapters from both Vlad and Penelope's point of view. But, as I said in _Serpentis_ , their relationship is not a healthy one. It's all about addiction and abuse. They're co-dependent on one another, and, believe it or not, Spectra isn't always the monster, especially where Danny's concerned.**

 **But I don't want to spoil anything for you dearies. All will be explained and fleshed-out in good time.**

 **I very much hope to read your reviews in the coming weeks, and I hope you enjoyed!**

 **BlackRosePoetry**


	2. Lacerae Fragmenta

**Warning! This fic deals with topics that are very sensitive and which may be triggering to some, especially to those suffering from ana or mia. Proceed with caution if you are squeamish.**

* * *

 **Sanguinem et Daemonia**

Daniel Fenton ( _Masters_ ) is

5'7" and fifteen

and weighs 125 pounds.

He knows something is wrong something isn't quite

 _Right_

And maybe he should eat with _Mom_ and _Dad_ Vlad, shove that delicious spread the chef concocts each meal down his throat and poison himself with fat

But he's always been skinny been thin for his age and his height and

People are staring. People are _still_ staring at him eyes tracing the back of his neck as he walks and whispering to each other under their breath. Why won't they fucking stop?!

and no one's noticed his weight ( _that's a lie 'cause_ Mom _noticed_ ) so maybe it doesn't even matter, not really.

He thinks he'd like to be 115. It's a nice number. Not too dangerous not too threatening. It's a number that tastes

Thin

It rests on his tongue like smoke and sweat and blood and ectoplasm and tears

And

1

1

5

will kill the monsters kill the demons obliterate the stares and then he'll stop.

20 more pounds and then he'll stop.

And Vlad allows – no _forces_ – Danny to return to school walk the hallways like a normal teenager. Because Vlad believes with every inch of his corrupted disgusting soul – "Because you cannot wallow in self-pity because you must further yourself because you must be a model citizen because you are MY son!"

And because _Mom_ Penny looks at him with those damn eyes and says he should return with a smirk – "You missed out on sophomore year, sweetie and high school is meant to be the best years of your life and you've been cooped up in here far too long and wouldn't it be fun to make some _friends_?"

And those are the words that condemn him freeze him to the core even though there's already ice in his soul and the snakes whisper ever louder. _Friends_ were those who rotted six feet under in charred obliterated pieces flesh rent from bone.

But _Mom_ is not to be messed with. Because she is a twisted bitch with an angry soul and hateful words and razor-sharp nails that leave their mark across Vlad's muscled torso on a daily basis. Because she is a demon and a priestess and the tormentor and the absolver all wrapped in one pretty pretty beautiful curvaceous creature.

But sometimes there' s _something_ in those poison green curse green eyes, something that looks like sadness looks like agony looks like a cry for help and a cry to help.

Vlad states one day after one of he and Penny _Mom_ 's famous blood-spilling battles that they have become _friends_ and – oh! – Daniel boy doesn't it feel good to have someone with so much knowledge that can make the hurt go away?

( Danny and Penny, who are both owned body and mind and soul by the Vlad-demon, who do not bother to speak but will often sit hours together in

Total

Absolute

Perfect

Silence.

She knows he can see the bruises and the fractures, the cracks in her perfect façade, knows he can hear the screaming pleading _fucking_. She knows he knows that she likes it and hates it.

He knows she knows he hasn't eaten a thing in 76 hours and counting.

He knows she won't tell anyone least of all Vlad even though it may very well drive him to an early grave. Part of her feels bad feels actual remorse about this.

She knows he knows that there's a part of her that cares about him, this boy who fought ghosts but was one.

He knows she knows that a part of him cares about her too.

The parts that _hate_ Vlad Masters. That _love_ Vlad Masters.

So very fucking tragic.

And _love_ is such a hollow word anymore so very empty to Danny's ears.

They sit in silence while Vlad rampages. Momentarily temporarily allowed to hate the world and

Love each other.

It brings a kind of peace.)

And so Danny dresses in blue denim and white cotton with a red bullseye and realizes for the first time that

They're not really his colors.

They make his face look all tired and washed out with blue blue eyes sunken into deep purple bruise canyons dull and absolutely _lifeless_. Which is ironic considering he's already half dead body mind and soul.

122 and counting down. Drifting through crowded hallways and empty castle corridors and no matter how many people surround him still so damn alone.

So it's

1500 crunches

1000 leg lifts

900 squats

700 star jumps

600 push-ups

11 cups of black coffee and

12 laps around the castle

3 more cups of coffee

And there's 24 hours in a day to do it all.

Once you stop sleeping and stop eating there are just _so_ MANY hours to fill. It's so very very easy.

14 calories per cup of bitter black coffee.

120 calories in the 3 spoonfuls of plain plain yogurt he has for breakfast.

42 calories in the apple he peels and slices into 32 beautiful perfect pieces for lunch.

2 calories in the pile of lettuce he so very meticulously carefully hides his mashed potatoes bloody steak and gravy underneath for dinner.

He's never trusted exercise to keep everything off to burn everything away and scorch the demons, but he does trust the beautiful scale that rests in his room that is used before each meal and every workout and after every meal and each workout and the numbers are trickling like blood

Down

Down

Down

That's all that matters.

The demons the snakes are still murmuring still whispering but they approve.

 _Good_

 _Good_

 _Obedient_

 _Little_

 _Waste_

 _Little murderer_

 _You have never been good enough._

 _But at least you're trying._

 _100 more crunches and I'll let you sleep._

 _500 more and I'll stop the nightmares._

 _500 more and 3 more laps around the castle barefoot in the snow and I'll let you dream of_ _ **them**_ _._

 _Let you wake up sticky and sated –_

But he always passes out at 499 and wakes up disoriented annoyed on the frozen ground beneath him. Waking to the cold light of the dawn.

And that leaves a sour bile taste in his mouth but he can still dream while he's awake.

Dream of bright amethyst eyes and dye-brittle black hair,

Picture a thin athletic body wrapped in gothic cotton and a sarcastic drawling voice that's slowly morphing. And he's confused because SamSamSam was everything was the only thing he could think of for years of his life and he's _losing_ her to someone he fucking HATES as black ink dye morphs to bright orange red and amethyst crystals turn sickly poison green and the playful grins become infuriating smirks. And now he's picturing pretty pink-stained lips that would be so very very soft against his own rather than purple smeared ones that cracked during the winter.

And he's so fucking

C

O

N

F

U

S

E

D

Because pretty pretty Penny has perfect lips – not like his own that are bleeding and bruised from biting down the urge to consume to scream. Pretty lips that he wants to make smile wants to wrap around a _moan_ as his own damaged, gnawed lips deliver delicious torturous attentions –

And he cums. And tears streak down his pale face because the name that fell from his lips whispered on the frozen air in the dead of night was not the name that needed to escape. It was not a name he would admit to murmuring under torture under the threat of returning his family.

He's sated and it disgusts him.

He aches and yearns and hates and burns but in his heart

Not in his belly and he makes it another 30 hours and 29 minutes without tasting a morsel by picturing green eyes and purple eyes and purple lips and pink lips. Their faces have blurred together and then the terrifying moment comes when Danny realizes that the watercolor cluster-fuck of faces in his mind didn't really bother him anymore.

Maybe he has gone crazy just like MaddieMaddieMom.

Danny isn't sure when all this started this dawn-fantasy-moan-beg-lips-hands-please

When did all this start?

All he knows is the routine the endless monotony of starvation and mind-fucks and subtle looks shared by those who are trapped within the fathomless insanity of Vlad Masters. And it's a soothing thing, really, gives him something to cling to as the numbers flash behind bruised blue blue eyes.

And then Danny suddenly finally finds himself staring at Vlad _Dad_ and _Mom_ Penny during meal times watching pretty cotton candy lips lick suck bite chew swallow

Mashed Potatoes

Steak

Gravy

Apple Pies

Honeyed ham

Bread pudding

Chocolate cake

Penny's mouth must take like Heaven.

And Danny _Masters_ (FentonFentonFenton **fuck** ) is 119 pounds and it's taking too long why is it taking so fucking long?!

The demons in his bones are laughing mocking mocking safe in their marrow cocoons deep beneath the surface. And he thinks Penny can hear them because she's actually looking _worried_ now, green eyes hollow beneath Vlad's steelcord grasp on her freedom.

 _You're a failure little freak_ they croon happily

 _It's nice and warm inside your brittle bones._

 _You tried to kill us once_

 _But you won't do it again_

 _Danny Danny Danny_

 _Little Phantom_

 _You're a mother. Fucking. WASTE!_

He'll be damned if he doesn't make it if he becomes a waste

so it's 22 laps around the castle and

15 cups of coffee and

2000 crunches plus his other exercises.

And he's drinking gallon upon gallon of water trying to flush the toxins from his system flush the fat clinging to his organs. His peers shoot him looks from behind phones and whisper in time with the demons but he doesn't care at this point. But it's not working nothing's working because he's sitting on 118.5 and he hasn't eaten in a fucking week despite Penny and Vlad _Dad's_ pointed looks and he can't hardly goddamn walk and it's not fucking FAIR! Then he remembers someone saying apple cider vinegar helps your metabolism.

So he chugs an entire glass full and goes ahead adds some chili powder to the mix because he heard it would help and he throws it up

He throws it up and it _burns_.

Burns like the ice in his core and the rage despair in his soul.

118.7.

It's not going fast enough.

And he's so goddamn motherfucking hungry.

He can feel his muscles

Consuming themselves

And he's shaking like a newborn lamb.

Even his ghost powers have shorted out.

No more cries of 'going ghost!' to haunt him in the long lonely nights, nothing by atrophy and decay and beautiful wonderful starvation.

And it seems crazy insane that he once

Fought ghosts

Pummeled Skulker into a metal scrap-heap and

 _Saved_

people from the ghosts that stalked Amity Park.

He once called Vlad _Dad_ fruitloop – that word is no longer allowed not in the Masters household – and laughed and cried and all he once had to worry about was ghosts and grades and the Dash-bastard.

He can barely stand on his own two legs.

Something's got to give.

And then somehow he finds himself shoving food down his throat so fast he can't taste it, can't distinguish what the fuck is going down his esophagus. He's eating anything. Everything.

Roast Beef and

Ice cream and

Treacle Tarts and

Apple Pie and

Plate-sized chunks of bread smothered in jam and

Gallons of cream soda and

A mountain of mashed potatoes smothered in sour cream, bacon bits, cheddar cheese

And on and on and on.

It's only when he's smelling tomato sauce and recognizes that he's eating cold pizza on the kitchen floor at 4 in the morning like it's the only thing he's ever wanted, the only thing he's ever needed, that he realizes what the literal fuck he's doing.

How many calories had he just consumed? 4000? 6000? 10,000? 1,000,000?

He's never felt so full and it doesn't even matter because it's

All

Too

Fucking

Much.

And he's never felt so goddamn full or sick or disgusted or terrified in his fucking life ( _That's a lie because you can still see a still-beating heart clutched in a black-clawed fist still watch the life drain from dark blue eyes and all you can hear is screaming_ ) oh God it's poisoning him calories feeding the bone demons and he'll weigh 300 pounds and he'll never be free.

He bends over icy white porcelain at 3:14 in the morning and wonders what it is with him and bathrooms.

There's voices crooning in his mind telling him he's doing it wrong, laughing at his ineptitude, and he sticks his fingers as far down his throat as he physically can but it's not working nothing's fucking working! His gag reflex doesn't even twitch. And he glares at his reflection in the water and wonders how he got here.

It's funny really, funny funny funny that Amity Park's resident hero – even the demons are panicking now – can throw up vinegar which he wants to keep in but he cannot fucking get rid of that which he wants to

Get.

Fucking.

Out!

And then it hits him so he runs back to the kitchen, grabs the bottle of vinegar and _chugs_.

Then he's puking, puking, puking for the United fucking States of America and his face looks disgusting all reflected in half-digested food and he promises himself that he will never lose control again. Not like this. Never like this. And he's never been so happy to feel his stomach muscles clench and his mouth water and his eyes nose mouth burn – the demons have not been fed.

They're screaming at him but he doesn't care.

117.3.

And it's enough for today.

Because

1

1

5

is suddenly very very close. Close enough to taste the char and spoiled blood on his tongue.

And he said he would stop –

But how does he stop?

Does he even want to stop?

The answer is no, he doesn't, and 110 suddenly sounds like a very good number indeed.

Yes, that's safe.

Then the demons will be dead dead dead, gone gone forever, and he'll be able to sleep without having to picture bloodred eyes and cotton candy spun-sugar lips.

And he can hold on for another 7.3 pounds.

Penny gives him a look at breakfast that's haunting and haunted and there's something close to _pleading_ in those poison green eyes and she says "We heard

Noises

last night Danny and we're worried about you. You don't look well, sweetie, and we want to _help_ you how do we help you just tell us?"

And Vlad looks almost sane when he realizes that his pretty pretty she-demon actually cares for the Boy Who Almost Ruined Everything. Then the sanity drains away leaving a cold icy expanse of blue surrounded by quicksilver and he's like a goddamn Arctic Fox as he places a possessive hand on her shoulder.

Penelope looks three years younger already.

And Danny actually fucking _smiles_.

Because he can hold on 7.3 pounds longer.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello once again audience! (If any of you get that reference, rewards via cyber-cake is required). Welcome back to my cluster-fuck! Didja like it? Didja? I'm really trying to get into demonstrating Danny's spiral into insanity here, and - all in all - I'm pretty happy with the result. Now, the next couple of chapters will _not_ be from darling Danny's point of view. There are other characters here dealing with psychological damage (cough, Vlad, cough) and while, in Danny's eyes, Penelope is acting like she cares, there's always an ulterior motive with her.**

 **Although he's not wrong. She does care, just not for the right reasons. Just like she "cares" about my dear Vleb. Because this fucking bitch. . .**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoyed. To those who struggle each day with anorexia or any form of eating disorder, I pray for your ongoing battle. My mother suffered from bulimia for nearly a decade, and I've had to watch her spiral from one extreme to the other. Please don't think yourself beneath anyone. Each and every one of you is beautiful in your own way, and I hope you come to feel this in your own heart. As someone who often suffers from anxiety and depression, I know that saying this is one thing while actually putting it into practice is another, but I believe that we all can contribute to make this world a better place.**

 **I hope I've put your struggle into words that are understandable to those who don't know what it's like.**

 **Please leave a comment, because it's very dis-heartening to see traffic on this story and then only have three lovely reviewers. Constructive criticism is always welcome, although comments such as "This sucks!" and "You're sick" will be duly ignored. Jesus, I know I'm sick, I don't need to listen to you tell me that,too.**

 **Thanks once again and welcome to the Dark Side! BlackRosePoetry**


End file.
